


i wonder if our future was written in our past

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, they were probably happy once, until we learn more about their backstory i'm committed to just making it all up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: Alyosha is nearing the end of his time at the university; soon he will return to his foolhardy church. Perhaps it is for the best.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through...Probably about episode 13 of Winter in Hieron. Title from No Trace by MS MR. I'm so incredibly sad about these dudes.

Alyosha is in many ways a model student: both inquisitive and engaged, occasionally to a fault. His eyes never leave Arrell's face during a lesson. It would mark Arrell a liar if he did not admit to enjoying the attention. He likes, too, Alyosha's constant questions, even when they are foolish and misguided.

Arrell has little taste for teaching, these days. The Heat and the Dark loom ever closer in his mind. But Alyosha gives him pause in his despair: perhaps if everyone can be like this, always questioning, always striving, the solution can still be found. Perhaps all is not lost. 

They are not scheduled to meet today. Alyosha is nearing the end of his time at the university; soon he will return to his foolhardy church. Perhaps it is for the best.

Still, when there is a knock on the doorframe of the classroom that Arrell has set up camp in, he knows who he will see when he looks up.

"Hello, Tutor," Alyosha says. There is still a hint of boyishness and playfulness to his smiles. Arrell thinks he himself may have smiled like that, once, a long time ago. It's nostalgic, in its own way. "I've come to rescue you from your studies for the day."

Arrell adjusts his glasses as Alyosha slips inside the room, shutting the door behind him. "I don't believe I require rescuing," he says, "though your care is, as always, appreciated." He looks back down at his papers--a fascinating branch of research into the very fabric of Hieron itself. He does not look up as he hears Alyosha approach, coming to stand in front of Arrell's makeshift desk.

"Your dedication is admirable, Tutor," Alyosha says, reaching down to touch Arrell's cheek, "but I think you've worked enough for today." His eyes, when Arrell looks up, are soft and bright. 

He accepts the kiss that Alyosha bends down to give him, just on the corner of his mouth. It can't hurt so terribly to grant himself this indulgence. Arrell, as a rule, allows himself selfishness in strict and controlled doses. This is sometimes difficult, when it comes to Alyosha. 

When Alyosha pulls back, he spins Arrell's papers around and bends down to look at them. "What is this, anyway?"

"Nothing," Arrell says, working hard to keep the sharpness out of his voice. He pushes them to the side, careful to avoid smudging the ink. "It's not--well, it is important. But it will keep." 

"Ah, I'm glad you've come around to my way of thinking," Alyosha says. "Though don't think you're getting out of explaining this to me later." He sits down on the table, swinging his legs around to balance on Arrell's chair, at either side of his hips. Arrell finds himself smiling without quite meaning to. He balances one of his elbows against Alyosha's knee. 

"I see you have me trapped," he observes.

"You, trapped? I don't believe that will ever happen." Alyosha leans back on his hands. "I won't be here much longer, you know."

"I know."

He picks up Arrell's hand and traces the lines of his palm, avoiding Arrell's eyes. "You could come with me."

"My place is here, at the university," Arrell says. "There is so much more left to discover."

Alyosha smiles, glancing up. "I don't think you'll ever gain enough knowledge to be satisfied, Tutor."

Arrell turns his hand to grasp Alyosha's, reaching up with the other to pull Alyosha down by the back of his neck. Alyosha laughs in surprise as their lips meet, Arrell leaning up out of the chair to meet him. 

He does this because if his mouth were not otherwise occupied, he would ask Alyosha to stay. 

-

The sun is bright on the day that Arrell sees Alyosha off. 

Arrell offers him only a single book to take away with him. "Caltran's Elusive Catalogue," he says. His words feel strange and clumsy. "More a curiosity than anything else, but it details some of the earliest and most shrouded histories of the church. I think you will give it the attention it deserves."

Alyosha accepts it reverently, his fingers trailing the inscription on the leather cover. "Thank you, Tutor."

"I'm just happy it won't be gathering dust in my office any longer. A book unread, or read poorly, is one of the greatest tragedies."

"Ah, and you trust me to read it well?"

"We both know that you are in no need of flattery, Alyosha."

Alyosha smiles. "Perhaps," he says, "I just like to hear you say it." He steps towards Arrell, softly, the sun at his back just beginning to peak over the horizon. They stand nose to nose, Alyosha looking down so that he can meet Arrell's eyes. 

_Don't go don't go don't go_ pounds underneath Arrell's skin alongside the beat of his heart. The Heat and the Dark are coming; the possibility that he might never see Alyosha again hangs over his head like a blade poised to fall. And why should that worry him, more than the Heat and the Dark alone? 

His own blood betrays him. He presses a hand against Alyosha's chest. They are standing close enough to share breath. Alyosha closes the last slice of space between them, his kiss quiet but demanding. A request and a promise all at once. 

Arrell no longer makes promises. He knows he may never get a chance to keep them. 

He pushes against Alyosha's chest, five fingers splayed out over his heart. "You'll lose the daylight."

Alyosha steps back, and holds out a letter. "I'll send along my direction, once I'm settled," he says. "Write to me, if it's not too much trouble."

Arrell takes the parchment from Alyosha's hand. "Of course," he says. "We must continue your studies, after all."

Alyosha huffs out a breath. He cups Arrell's face and tugs him closer, pressing his lips to Arrell's cheek one last time. "I'll miss you, Tutor," he says, almost in a whisper. "I fear that I miss you already." 

There is nothing for Arrell to say to that. He watches Alyosha's back as he goes, until his form has disappeared among the trees. Then Arrell returns to his work. It is not so bad, he reasons, to be free of distractions. 

His focus suffers for a few days. But even he can forgive himself that small failure.

-

There is a flower pressed between the pages of Alyosha's letter. Arrell nearly drops it to the ground as he opens it.

It's a dandelion, small and delicate, one of the curiosities that Alyosha has always loved to collect. At the end of the letter, beside his signature, Alyosha has provided a small botanical sketch.

It's a clever ploy on Alyosha's part. Arrell is compelled to reply, even if only to point out that dandelions, bright though they may be, are only weeds. 

He encloses a sprig of lavender in his reply, pulled from the gardens just outside the university kitchens. The smell reminds him of Alyosha in a way he cannot quite pinpoint: something about the sweetness of it, or its delicate nature. 

Arrell wonders if Alyosha would appreciate the comparison. He does not ask. In his letter he speaks only of trivialities. 

Someday he will have to decide what to tell Alyosha. Whether or not to warn him of what's coming. But that can wait, for now; the worst is not at their doorstep yet.

Time moves inexorably forward: it has never been on Arrell's side. Its progress took Alyosha away, as it has taken and will take so many other things. 

Perhaps that is where Arrell's focus would be best placed. Time, surely, can be bent or manipulated to his will. Alyosha's faith is strong, and he believes that there are things in this world that are immutable. An enviable belief, Arrell sometimes thinks, in his weaker moments. 

But it is not so. It cannot be so. What Arrell needs, what _Hieron_ needs, is simply more time. Arrell will procure it, by any means necessary.

Alyosha's absence is an ever-present ache, but if he were here, he would only ask awkward questions. When Arrell has found a solution, and they meet again--if they meet again--Arrell will be prepared. He will explain it clearly. Alyosha, surely, will understand. 

In the meantime, Arrell sends his letters. The dandelion remains pinned to his desk, an unobtrusive spot of light.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at luckydicekirby on twitter or tumblr and talk to me about the inherent sadness of dandelions


End file.
